


Drabble Challenge

by lilcogs



Category: Everlark - Fandom, The Hunger Games
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilcogs/pseuds/lilcogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing all 76 drabbles from a list of prompts on fluffychrisevans's page on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be a long journey... enjoy. :)  
> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“You’ve got to pretend-date your best friend for a couple of weeks because reasons, and somehow that means we’re passing ourselves off as siblings to explain why we live together but we’ve started giving each other really filthy pre-sex looks behind everyone’s back like a game of chicken and pretty soon somebody is going to have serious concerns about our siblinghood”_ **

**_(This was a really strangely worded prompt, so I decided to just go with the sibling part, not the fake-dating part.)_ **

Peeta balls up the used red napkin and rolls it out of his palm onto the table. A few more giggles escape both of us as he wipes his nose again.

“Fuck, that  _burned_ ,” he complains, and I burst out laughing again. He glares at me but can’t conceal the mirth in his expression. “It isn’t funny. I just squirted a fucking bloody Mary out of my  _nose_.”

“I know, idiot. And it was  _hilarious._ ” He glowers at me over his glass and I smile innocently. “I guess I should stop being so entertaining,” I sigh dramatically.

Peeta snorts. “Tone it down a little, would you? Ugh, if I knew you were going to make me do that, I wouldn’t have gotten a drink with vodka in it.”

I shrug helplessly and he sighs, both of us looking over the sea of heads before us. Peeta and I were lucky enough to snag a table before the bar started getting busy. I’m not a fan of crowds, and I wouldn’t even have been here if it weren’t for a very insistent and love-struck Annie. She dragged me here to meet some guy whose name I don’t recall, and she was kind enough to let Peeta tag along to keep me from crawling out of my skin.

Suddenly a man and woman plop down in the two remaining chairs at our table- everyone else is too preoccupied with dancing to sit- and I inwardly groan at the inevitable socialization. The woman, sporting a high, sleek blonde ponytail and an uncomfortably tight red dress, smiles at us kindly.

“Hi,” she greets. “I’m Madge.” She extends her hand and I grasp and shake it. Then she gestures to her side. “This is Gale.”

The man in question smiles stiffly, his tousled, dark hair and grim expression surely matching my own. He looks nearly as miserable as I feel.

“Katniss,” I reply, then point to Peeta and introduce him.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” Madge gushes, her blood-red nails clutching the beer bottle in her hand. She’s very pretty and very sweet, but I’m not much in the mood for niceties.

No. In fact, I want to mess with this girl.

“Actually, he’s my brother,” I reply coolly, ignoring Peeta’s questioning stare from my periphery. He doesn’t object, thankfully, just sits and waits for an explanation.

“Oh!” Madge squeaks and covers her mouth with her pale, manicured hand. “I’m sorry! I just thought-”

I almost feel bad for saying anything in the first place. Then again, she wouldn’t have been right in assuming we were dating, anyway. These days it’s very hard to be best friends with a member of the opposite sex and  _not_  have people think otherwise.

“It’s fine,” I say, waving her off. “We get that all the time. He’s technically my half-brother, which is why we look nothing alike.”

Madge is so embarrassed that she just nods and smiles a little too brightly, then turns away quickly, suddenly very interested in the suggestive dancing going on all around us. Gale, at least, looks amused. He eyes me for a moment, barely suppressing a smile, before turning the other direction with Madge and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Mind explaining what the fuck is going on?” Peeta murmurs in my ear, and I turn to him, smiling mischievously. “Uh oh,” he says at my expression. “This means trouble, doesn’t it? What did you get us into?”

I shrug uselessly, teasing, always teasing, and he grabs my shoulder. “Katniss. Tell me.”

I lean in closer to him- quite unnecessarily, I might add; the blasting music will do enough to cover my words. “Here’s what I’m thinking: we pretend to be brother and sister, but, like, with a _twist_.”

He sighs and deadpans, “And what would this ‘twist’ be, Katniss?”

I smile deviously. “We can play this game of sort-of chicken, where we have to give each other, like,  _really_  sexual looks- and maybe even touches, if you feel like it- and we’ll see how much it takes before they crack.” At this I gesture to Madge and Gale, who are still faced away from us, chatting quietly.

Peeta narrows his eyes before dropping his jaw nearly to his chest. “You sick fuck,” he says, though he’s smiling.

I lift a shoulder and smirk. Then I extend my hand to him. “Do you accept this challenge, Mr. Mellark?”

He shakes his head but grasps my hand. “Fuck yes, Ms. Everdeen.”

I grin and release his grip. “Alright. Get them talking. You’re better with words, and this isn’t going to work if they keep facing away.”

He nods. “So, Madge,” he calls, and the blonde ponytail swings as Madge whirls around. “What do you guys do for a living?”

They strike up a conversation and I go easy at first, leaning my elbow on the back of my chair and turning to face Peeta. I nod at everything he says, listening intently, and a few times I even throw in an affectionate smile for good measure. Then I pinch his leg and take over the conversation to give him an opportunity.

As the minutes tick by and the conversation branches from one topic to another, the touches Peeta and I share become more intense, the looks more adoring. A rub of the upper arm, a pinch of the cheek. Once I even run my hand through his hair, which makes Peeta’s face bloom red with the effort of trying not to laugh out loud.

Madge’s and Gale’s faces grow increasingly tainted with confusion, although they try their best to hide it. With every passing minute I can sense their growing discomfort, their expressions  comical.

And then I can’t help it: I go for gold.

Maybe it’s the drinks, maybe it’s the way I always seem to be around Peeta. But I reach over, grasp his face in my hands, and kiss him full on the mouth. I hear a little gasp from behind me that undoubtedly came from Madge, but I ignore it, smiling against Peeta’s still, stunned lips. Then he reciprocates, jumping to life so suddenly you’d think he’d been shocked.

I pull back a moment later and whisper, “I win.”


	2. Day 2

**_“Person B is reeaaaaaally tired, but person A is super, super energetic and loud. Trying to get Person A to shut up, Person B kisses Person A.”_ **

By the time my plane lands, I’m drained from both the five-hour flight and the time difference from California to my Pennsylvanian home.

Seeing Prim was amazing and refreshing, as always, but the feeling of being so exhausted has me wondering grumpily, not for the first time, why in the hell she decided to move so far out west.

I shoot a quick text to Peeta-  _“Just landed”-_  and tug the strap of my carry-on farther up my shoulder. Then I follow the signs to baggage claim, waiting impatiently for my run-of-the-mill gray suitcase to roll around. Once I spot it, I heave it off of the conveyor belt and roll it towards the doors.

When I feel the telltale vibration, I check my phone for Peeta’s message and see it lighting up: _“In the car towards the back of the line- sorry. Can’t wait to see you!”_

I smile at the sentiment and continue on, fueled by my excitement to see my boyfriend again. The doors to the airport slide open and I walk through them, the cool air a much-needed relief from the the stifling Californian heat to which I’ve become accustomed.

I practically run down the sidewalk, dodging families reunited and people waiting for shuttle buses. When I reach his car, I knock on the window and Peeta looks up from his phone. His beautiful face splits into a bright smile, and he flings the door open and circles the car to greet me. I readily accept his crushing embrace; you would think I’ve been gone for months. In reality, it’s only been a week, but Peeta is exactly like a puppy in that aspect.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes into my hair, and the smile I’m sporting begins to hurt my face.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I reply.

Peeta finally pulls back from me but holds me at arm’s length. His eyes roam my body, drinking me in, relearning me.

He smiles at me. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are.”

A blush overtakes my cheeks and my eyes dart away from his. I never could take a compliment.

Peeta laughs at my reaction. “I also almost forgot that you hate compliments. Come on, let’s go home.”

Now that the exhilaration of finally seeing Peeta has worn off, the sleepiness kicks back in, and I slump into the car seat. All I want now is to go to sleep in my own bed.

That’s when Peeta starts talking.

At first it’s just to ask how my trip was: if I had fun with Prim, if the flight was bearable, if there were any crying babies on board. Once I give him a few vague answers, he moves on to his own life, what happened while I was gone.

Peeta literally spares  _no_  detail. I hear about every breath, every word, every interaction he had in the time I was in California.

He talks the entire hour-drive home. I glare at him from the passenger seat.

“Peeta,” I groan once.

“What? Oh, hey, Finnick and Annie invited us to dinner sometime next week. Nothing big or fancy, they just want…”

“Peeta,” I try again.

“What is it? Wait, I forgot to tell you! How could I have forgotten to tell you? Delly said the baby finally kicked! She thinks it’s a girl, but Thom says…”

I try, and fail, at least four times to get him to  _shut up_ , but he barely acknowledges that I’ve even spoken before surging on to a new topic. When we finally pull up to our building, I practically fly out of the car before snatching up my luggage and storming up the stairs to our apartment. Then I remember I don’t have the keys.

I wait impatiently for Peeta to amble up the stairs and slide the key into the lock.

“Man, what was that?” he laughs. “You, like, _flew_  up those steps.”

But I don’t answer him, just push the door open before trudging to our bedroom, dropping my things unceremoniously to the floor, and flopping onto the mattress. I sigh in relief before Peeta joins me on the bed.

“Oh, so Johanna called, I don’t know if I told you that. She said- oh wait, I  _did_  tell you this, that’s right, I totally-”

He sputters for a few moments before registering that my lips are on his, and then he gives in to the kiss. I don’t allow him to get too into it before I pull away.

“Peeta, I love you so much, but please shut the fuck up.”

He smiles at me a little. “Man, you look tired as fuck.”

“I am,” I reply, before stripping down to my bra and underwear. “Now, I’m going to sleep, so be quiet.”

He just chuckles a little, then kisses my forehead and clicks off the light. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I sigh.

When he settles into bed, I murmur, “Remind me never to leave you again.”


	3. Day 3

**_“Person A has become a health food nut and this is driving Person B absolutely crazy.”_ **

   “I’m home!” Peeta shouts from the other room, and I peel myself from my place on the couch.

   I press a quick kiss to his lips as he struggles with the numerous grocery bags in his arms before finally dropping one or two of them to the ground. He huffs in annoyance.

“Need help?” I quirk an eyebrow as he closes the door with his foot.

   Peeta laughs and unloads a few of the bags onto me. We carry them together to the kitchen, placing them on the counter with a collective  _thump_. I dig through the bags in excitement; we haven’t had new groceries in nearly two weeks.

   As I rummage through Peeta’s purchases (we’ve agreed to let him do the shopping because I hate it and I always end up getting purely junk food), my eyes widen and my hands slow as I take in the sight before me.

   “Peeta,  _no_ ,” I breathe, realizing what these things mean.

   “Katniss, please hear me out before you-”

   “How many times have we been over this, Peeta? Would you _please_  stop with this shit?”

   “It’s called a juice cleanse,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “You drink nothing but fruit and vegetable smoothies, like, five times a day.”

   I pinch the bridge of my nose. Peeta blinks nervously.

   “I just don’t understand  _why_ ,” I begin softly. “You’re already ridiculously healthy as it is. You’ve got absolutely nothing to be worried about.” At this I smooth my hands over the hard planes of his chest.

Peeta sighs, probably as sick as I am of having this conversation. “Katniss, this isn’t about losing weight, it’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I cut in. “It  _‘cleanses’_  or whatever.”

  
   Peeta nods. “Hence  _‘juice cleanse’_. Now, if you’re going to do it with me, then awesome. If not, leave me alone.”

I groan and swipe a hand over my face. “I think you probably figured this, but no, thank you. Did you get my shit, at least?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, then picks through the grocery bags. “This one,” he says, gesturing to one, and I give a little cheer before plucking one of the boxes of treats out and holding it to my chest.

“Good luck with that,” I tell him, then pat his chest and walk out of the room, junk food in hand.

   The number of times Peeta has asked me to join him in his crazy dieting has by now heavily outweighed the number of times I actually _agreed_  (which, by the way, is zero). Despite my constant efforts to get him to _please stop_ , he is surprisingly stubborn in his position- which is saying something, considering most times Peeta makes it clear he’d do anything I asked of him. He can be just as strongheaded as me and I absolutely resent him for it.

   Over the next week I make it clear to Peeta that his crazy schemes are getting out of hand. At first I just sigh and shake my head sadly whenever he walks into the room with one of his ridiculous fruit or vegetable juices. It has no effect; he smiles at me as though I’ve not said or done a single thing and plops himself on the couch next to me, ignoring my glares.

   Then I take on the habit of biting into my cookie-slash-ho-ho-slash whatever junk is in my hand as soon as he walks in, moaning and closing my eyes in ecstasy as though I’ve just tasted Heaven itself. He just takes his straw into his mouth and surveys me with wide, innocent eyes.

   I chew grumpily. He slurps his juice.

   I decide to turn it up a notch one night when we’re sitting side-by-side on our respective laptops. Entering a quick search into Google, I clear my throat to alert him. He raises his eyebrows at me in question.

   “According to  _Cosmo_ ,” I say, “‘weight you lose on a juice cleanse tends to be water weight from your muscles, not fat’.”

   “And according to _this_ site,” Peeta fires right back, “a juice cleanse can result in ‘a regulated, nourished colon, increased energy and stamina, increased mental clarity, better sleep patterns, a radiant complexion, and healthy hair and nails’.” He waggles his fingers at me mockingly.

   I chew my lip, trying to find a witty reply and coming up devastatingly short.

   “Besides, Katniss,” he continues, less teasing this time, “I’ve _told_ you, this isn’t to lose weight.”

   I continue my Netflix binge silently, with a clenched jaw. He smirks at me over his screen.

   By the end of the week I’ve indefinitely decided to deprive Peeta of all interaction with me. Before I can slink upstairs, though, he stands in front of me in my place on the couch.

I drag my eyes upward to his, leveling him with my indifferent stare.

“I’m done,” he says. “With the juice cleanse, I mean. So you can stop pouting.”

I roll my eyes and pull him down onto the couch with me.

The next week, however, when we’re unloading the groceries and I come upon the bag containing dozens of jars of applesauce and other puréed produce, I simply lower them and cut my gaze to Peeta’s scared blue one.  
    

“Katniss, wait- hear me out,” he starts. “It’s called a baby food diet-”

I practically run out of the room.


	4. Day 4

**_“Imagine your OTP exchanging gifts for the first time during the holidays, maybe both a little nervous that the other won’t like their gift. It turns out that neither has reason to be anxious; both love the other’s gift and kisses are exchanged along with each present.”_ **

Peeta’s present trembles in my hands, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my faded, ripped jeans before snaking a hand out from within my coat pockets to ring his doorbell.

When the door swings open I’m greeted with a smiling face capped with blonde curls that are familiar but not my boyfriend’s.

“Katniss!”

“Hi, Mr. Mellark,” I reply, and smile shyly.

“For the last time, Katniss, it’s Graham!” he corrects good-naturedly.

I smile again but before I can fix my mistake, I hear faintly from somewhere upstairs, “Is that Katniss?”

The voice apparently doesn’t need an answer. I hear the telltale pounding of Peeta’s careless feet a second before he appears on the landing, smiling and dressed smartly in a hunter-green sweater and khakis.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly.

“Hey, yourself.”

Mr. Mellark-  _Graham_ \- just grins between us before shaking his head. “Alright, you crazy kids,” he says. “I can practically touch the sexual tension with my hands so I’ll get out of your way.” He walks off into the kitchen.

I blush at his words but Peeta just envelopes me in a big, fuzzy, sweater hug.

“I’ve missed you,” he exhales into my hair.

“You literally saw me five days ago. Ice skating, remember?” I laugh, but on the inside I’m breathing a sigh of relief because it feels like forever since I’ve last touched him.

   “Five days too long,” he murmurs, then releases me. My heart automatically sinks at our miniscule distance.

   “Well, you look absolutely  _ravishing_ , Ms. Everdeen.”

   I laugh and push on his chest. “Shut up. I’m literally wearing my dad’s sweater and ratty jeans.”

   He shrugs. “You’re not going to get me to believe that you’re not beautiful every second of every day.” My cheeks flame in response.

   The package in my hands catches Peeta’s attention. “Ooh, is that for me?” I nod. “Perfect, I have yours downstairs. Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and leads me down the staircase.

   My heart thrums in my chest at the sight and feel of Peeta’s warm hand completely dwarfing my still-frigid one, and a small smile briefly lights up my face.

   In the basement he plucks a crudely wrapped gift off of the couch and hands it to me. I smile at him and immediately begin stripping off the already-mostly-shredded tissue paper.

   I narrow my eyes and try to decipher the piece of fabric in my hand. “Is this…  _Is this a fucking ‘N Sync shirt?_ ”

   Peeta cracks up at my reaction, doubling over and clutching his knees for support. He finally composes himself to gasp out, “Unfold it.”

   I scrutinize him for a moment in confusion before letting the folds in the shirt drop. Several scraps of paper flutter to the ground, and I swipe them up before surveying them.

   I whip my head up at him, hoping desperately that this is real and not some crazy, fangirl dream. “ _Peeta._ ”

   He can barely conceal his jubilant smile as he nods.

   I scream in excitement and fling my arms around his waist. “Oh god,  _thank you.”_

   He’s laughing again, and in my elation the tickets to Justin Timberlake’s Philly concert slip out of my hand and float to the floor.

   I only realizing I’m crying when Peeta says, “Holy shit, Katniss,” and swipes at my cheeks with his thumbs. The edges of his blue eyes are still crinkled in mirth, and the smell of his woodsy cologne is intoxicating.

   I can’t help myself. I kiss him.

   Most couples would be kissing regularly with almost six months under their belts, but Peeta and I are not most couples, and Peeta, of course, is too much of a gentleman to ever push me. Still, he reacts quickly after a few moments of being stunned into stillness, and soon his large hands are grasping my waist, my hips, pulling me closer. After a little while I break away to catch my breath. Peeta’s panting as well.

   “I, um…” I tuck a loose hair behind my ear and look away, suddenly shy. “I had to do that.”

   “Katniss, like I give a fuck,” he replies, a goofy smile pasted on his beautiful face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

   “You deserved it. For the gift.” I laugh and bend down to pick up the tickets.

   “I wasn’t sure you would like it,” he admits. “You don’t talk about him much anymore, so I didn’t know if you’d appreciate it.”

   I shake my head at him, smiling. “I don’t talk about him anymore because I’m annoying and I didn’t think you’d want me gushing over another guy.”

   “You are  _not_  annoying, but yes, you’re right about the other thing.” He laughs. “Anyway, I got you two tickets, since I figured you’d want to go with Prim, or Gale-”

   I flick his forehead, ignoring his sharp cry. “Are you kidding me, Peeta? I’m going with _you_ , you big dork.”

   “Fine, fine. Geez, you didn’t need to  _flick_  me…”

   I smile at his mutterings. “Shut up and let me give you your present.”

   He furrows his brow. “Kind of thought you just did.”

   “No, that was just a bonus,” I say, and grab the wrapped box from a side table.

   He smiles at me as I hand it to him and then proceeds to peel off the festive Christmas paper. My heart pounds violently in my chest as I try to gauge his reaction. Then it seizes in adoration as a huge smile breaks over his face, and he looks up at me.

   “Katniss, you remembered,” he says in awe, holding up the box of acrylic paints I’d saved up for months to buy, and I nod.

   “How could I forget?” I reply. “You looked like a kid in a candy shop when you saw these.” I laugh at the memory of him at the store with his wide, insanely blue eyes and his fingers tentatively touching the paints, as if they’d scamper away if he moved too suddenly.

   He chuckles along with me, then pulls me in by my waist and presses his lips firmly to my eager ones. Then he rests his forehead against mine, still smiling slightly.

   “Merry Christmas,” I whisper, and he laughs.

   “I’d say this is the best Christmas _ever_.”


	5. Day 5

**_“Sometime after Person A has tragically died, Person B sits alone and apologizes.”_ **

**_(I ignored the “sits alone” part)_ **

   It’s unusual for me to mop, because Peeta typically takes over my stereotypical “housewife duties” and does it for me. But the darkness was especially heavy today, especially overwhelming and all-consuming, and Peeta isn’t home yet to lighten it, and the floor looked dirty. So I’m mopping.

   It’s about a half hour, multiple chores, and one particularly stubborn stain later when Peeta walks through the door, humming a nameless tune and toting a bag of my favorite pastries. I feel the pressing weight in my chest lift just slightly, and I set down the dusty rag I’d just been using.

   “What is this?” Peeta calls light-heartedly from the kitchen doorway. “My gorgeous wife, cleaning our-”

   There’s a cry and a loud crash, and Peeta’s beautiful treats spill all over the floor. I’m moving to him in an instant, sailing through the living room into the kitchen to his form, lying motionless on the still-slippery tile.

   When I see the pool of blood growing steadily beside his head, I’m suddenly about to vomit and pass out all at once. Despite my worst fears, I reach down and press my shaking fingers to that spot in his neck that my mother had told me years ago would hold a person’s fluttering pulse.

   Instead I find stillness.

   Now shuddering violently, I lower my ear to his mouth, his nose, his chest, hoping beyond hope for some sign of life, some sign that  _my Peeta_  is well and breathing and  _alive._

   I nearly jump out of my skin when I see his eyes are still open. Those eyes, so blue and clear and, moments ago, full of mirth and life.

   I’ll never get to see that again.

   I glide my hands over his perfect face. His strong jaw. His full lips. His soft skin. I take my two trembling fingers, place a kiss upon them and press them to his mouth, then slide his eyelids closed with the same two digits.

   An hour later I’m still rocking on the ground beside Peeta’s lifeless body, the blood from the wound in his temple covering the knees of my pants and the edge of the counter where his head had caught it.

   At one point I hear screaming, but I ignore it, knowing no one’s pain but my own.

   It’s only when it doesn’t stop a full minute later that I realize it’s  _me_. I accept it and wail until my throat is raw. Then I curl up beside Peeta and cry, wracking, full-body sobs, until I fall into a restless sleep.

**X-X-X-X**

   “Mrs. Mellark? Perhaps you’d like to say a few words?”

   I’m slowly drawn out of my haze and I blink to clear my head. Then I nod at the man in front of me and lift my aching body from the folding chair on the sand.

   “Peeta’s favorite color is-  _was_ \- orange,” I say once I reach the podium. “The color of the sunset. That’s why we’re at the beach today. I wanted him to see one last one before he had to go.”

   I close my eyes, trying to recall all the words I’d prepared for today. Somewhere between my brain and my mouth, the speech gets stuck and I’m left blubbering in front of all these people.

   Haymitch, my neighbor and good friend, staring stonily into the sand at his feet, no glass in his hand- though I’m sure he’s desperately in need of one today. But he went without it for me. For Peeta.

   Johanna, my best friend since childhood, whose dark hair used to be cropped close to her scalp but now brushes her shoulders. She was never very close with Peeta; she’s here today for me. Her chestnut eyes are watery as she meets mine, and she tries to give me a half-smile in reassurance. It slides off her face as quickly as it sprouted. No one is much in the mood for pleasantries today.

   My mother, who is trying to stay strong for me, an arm wrapped around the shoulders of my little sister Prim, who is weeping openly. I want to shout at her because if she doesn’t stop crying, soon I will start and that’s no good, no good at all because then I’m admitting to myself that  _I’m not okay._  And I’ve been telling myself just the opposite this whole time.

   Finally my eyes land on Finnick and Annie, Peeta’s and my former roommates, respectively, looking with glassy eyes at me and at the casket next to me holding Peeta’s body.

    _Dead. He’s dead._

   Their four-year-old son is propped up between them, looking restless as usual, and I almost smile at his innocence and his blissful obliviousness of the mess around him.

  _Peeta wanted a child._

   In my mind I swipe at the thought, willing it to go away, because this is all so overwhelming I can’t stand it.

   Before I realize it I’m at at the coffin, this gorgeous wooden box that holds him- no, not him, what  _used_  to be him, just the shell of him. I can feel the stares of all my friends and family following me, and I know without a doubt that most of them are worrying about what is going to happen next. To be honest, I am too.

   Then I’m saying the words that have been slamming around in my mind since Peeta’s head hit the counter and he fell to the ground, lifeless.

   “Peeta, I’m  _sorry_ ,” I gasp. “Oh god, this is all my  _fault,_  I shouldn’t have been mopping, this is all because of me, I can’t- I don’t-”

   I whirl around, confronting the stares, a mix of confusion, dubiousness, and fear.

   “I killed him!” I cry. “I killed my husband. I was mopping that day, and he came home and the floor was wet, and he fell and hit his head and  _oh god I’ve killed him.”_

I turn back towards the casket. “Peeta, I’m sorry, I should never have done this, I didn’t- you know something? I’m an  _idiot_. I didn’t give you a baby, Peeta, I didn’t give you the life you wanted, I’m so sorry. I’m a god damn fool, Peeta,  _Peeta_ …”

I’m sobbing now, cursing Prim for causing the tears even though I know they would have come no matter what.

At some point, someone- I’m pretty sure it’s Johanna- grasps me by the shoulders and leads me down the shoreline, until the water kisses our feet and my cries are reduced to gasps and hiccups.

“You didn’t do it, you know,” she says eventually, her voice almost as raw as I’m sure mine is. “You didn’t kill him. It wasn’t your fault. If he was meant to go that day, he could have gone in any number of ways.”

“But if I wouldn’t have mopped that  _damn floor_ , he-”

“You have to stop blaming yourself, Katniss!” she says sharply. Then she softens. “You have to stop telling yourself you’re responsible for these things. Shit happens, and it sucks ass, but that’s just the way it goes, okay? You couldn’t have helped it.

“I’ve been your best friend for years, Katniss, and I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve lost sleep over things you couldn’t change, things that were just meant to be. This  _can’t_  be one of those instances. I won’t let you cave in on yourself this time.”

I look up at her with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and swipe at my face, smearing tears and mascara onto my cheeks.

“Thanks, Jo.”

She smiles lightly at me before tucking an arm around my waist, leading me for hours along the water.

That night, and for the rest of my life, my friends and family are by my side, watching over me, keeping me company on the loneliest days and maintaining the closest safe distance on the fiercest days.

I look forward to the day I can see Peeta in person again.


	6. Day 6

**_“Imagine Person A of your OTP relentlessly flirting with B in public, just to see B blush.”_ **

   “I don’t want to be here either, you know.”

   I turn to Peeta, who has just walked up, in confusion.

   “You know, because you look miserable. And I figured you’d be doing that thing where you get upset because I can socialize and look like I’m enjoying myself more than you are.” He raises an eyebrow and I drop my gaze. He can read me too well. “And I’m not. I want to leave just as much as you probably do.”

   “God, I want to go so badly,” I groan, and he laughs softly. “Why does Prim have to be so  _perfect?_  If she weren’t such a good person she wouldn’t have started this whole foundation. And then I wouldn’t have to be wearing this.” I gesture to my sleek, floor-length black gown. I squirm uncomfortably in it. And my matching heels, though not even a quarter of the height of some of the women’s here, are agonizing on my feet.

   Peeta steps closer. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you look super sexy.”

   My eyes dart in every direction, ensuring that no one has heard Peeta’s comment. “ _Peeta_ ,” I hiss.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You do.”

   “You can’t say that when we’re at a gala for  _child hunger_.”

   He just shrugs again innocently. I exhale in exasperation.

   My face is still flaming, and I take a sip of my wine and press the back of my hand to my cheek. Peeta suppresses a smile.

   My stomach lurches when he lowers his mouth to my ear.

   “I was wrong before,” he says, voice low. “I want to leave _way_  more than you do. There are  _much_ better things we could be doing right now.”

   The wine catches in my throat and I splutter for several moments, earning the glares of a few snobby adults around us.

   Peeta just smiles and rubs my back, faux-soothingly, before walking off, leaving me to tend to the fire in the apples of my cheeks.

   After an hour filled with fake niceties- and, in one case, with a sweet woman named Annie, genuine niceties- Peeta returns to my side, innocent as ever. We make empty conversation for a few minutes.

   “I really do like that dress on you, Katniss,” he says at one point, the look on his face sweet, and I smile at him.

   Then he bends to my level- a good five inches- and I shudder at his proximity.

   “But I’d like it even better  _off_  of you.”

   My sharp intake of breath is all the indication Peeta needs about the effect of his words. He presses a hand to my forehead and tilts his head curiously.

   “You seem awfully flushed, Ms. Everdeen.”

   I glare at him. “Peeta, stop.”

The side of his mouth quirks upward. “Why? I’m having a _lot_ of fun here.” He lowers his voice, then says, “But I’m going to have _way_  more fun later, with you.”

My heart is pounding furiously in my chest and my breathing is growing rapid and if Peeta doesn’t go away I swear I’ll-

“Katniss, you came!”

I whip my head towards Prim’s squeal and sigh in relief at the sight of her.

“Hey, babe,” I reply, and wrap her slender form in a hug. “Damn, you look great,” I say when I spot her perfect coils of platinum hair and equally stunning silver gown.

“Thanks,” she breathes, still beaming. Then the smile drops right off her pretty face, and she holds me at arm’s length. “Katniss, are you feeling alright? You’re red as a tomato, and-” she presses a hand to my forehead “- you’re super hot.”

I shoot Peeta a quick glare over my sister’s shoulder. He sends a pure smile my way and waits for me to answer.


	7. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of Day Four.

_**"Person A is very tall. Person B is very short. Imagine Person B sitting on Person A’s shoulders so that they both look like a giant.”** _

Peeta and I are surrounded by hundreds- no,  _thousands_ \- of girls. They’re all around us, screaming and singing and crying. They’re dabbing at their watery makeup. They’re reaching desperate hands up to the stage, shouting Justin’s name and sobbing. All around us, a sea of hysterical teenage girls.

And then,  _smack-dab_  in front of the two of us, an adult male.

I don’t know what his situation is- a dad, maybe, or even a fan- but he’s got to be at least 6’5”. And his seat is right in front of mine- me, a solid 5’3”,  _maybe_. And he’s standing. Has been the whole time.

Peeta and I have asked him to sit several times, very _politely_ , but he always just shoots us dirty looks and turns back to the performance. Finally, we just gave up trying to take pictures over the guy’s shoulder and enjoyed our time here while it lasts.

 _A Justin Timberlake concert_. Just thinking those words has me shivering and sighing in contentment.

But it’s very hard to remain  _content_ when it’s Justin’s finale and this asshole won’t just sit. I turn to Peeta, ready to complain for the millionth time, but he shushes me as soon as I open my mouth.

“Here,” he says, then squats. When I question him, he just gestures to his back and says, “Come on, get on my shoulders.”

I laugh and climb on.  _Perks of having a tall boyfriend_ , I think. Why hadn’t I had this idea earlier? This could have solved a lot.

I’m proven right when Peeta stands to his full height and I get a clear view of the stage below. I think I let out a little squeal, because Peeta laughs.

“How’s the view?” he asks from underneath me.

“You should know,” I reply. “You see things from up here _all_ the time.”

He chuckles again and squeezes my thigh. My heart surges, both with affection and gratitude that he got these tickets in the first place.

Now I see that the girls I had previously thought were idiotic were actually acting appropriately. Justin looks  _so good_ from this angle, and I can actually feel myself starting to tear up at the whole experience.

Pretty soon, I’m scream-singing along with the rest of the teenagers, earning myself nasty looks from around me but not caring, not caring at all, because it’s  _Justin Timberlake_ , and I’m with Peeta, one of the few people I’ve allowed myself to love, and it’s all making me feel so free I’m sure I’m drunk.

By the end of the song, when Justin thanks the audience and lowers back into the ground and the confetti cannons go off and it’s over, there are actual  _tears_ running down my face. I try to swipe at them before Peeta sees, but a moment later he’s lowering me off his shoulders and I don’t get the chance.

But he just laughs when he sees my red, splotchy face, shaking his head at my total fangirl-ness.

“You know, sometimes I wish I could get this reaction out of you,” he jokes, and I grin at him.

“Become a superstar and you can.”

    He feigns hurt, and I can’t seem to peel this cheeky smile off of my face.

    As everyone around us shuffles for what is sure to be a long trek towards the exits, I loop my arms around his neck and tilt my face up towards his, capturing his lips in a kiss and trying to express all I’m feeling right now. Before either of us can get too into it, though, I force myself away and lean my forehead against his flushed one. We both manage breathy laughs.

    “I don’t think I’ll  _ever_ get tired of doing that,” he says, and I can’t do anything but laugh again.

    “Thank you so much for all of this, Peeta,” I tell him. “This has basically been the best night of my life.”

    He flushes and smiles at me. “Always,” he says, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me to his car, where I will most definitely fall asleep to the sound of his tuneless singing.


	8. Day 8

_**"** **Imagine your OTP freaking out over a bee in the house.”** _

    The cold spray of the shower feels heavenly against my sweaty skin, and it’s only just now that those post-run endorphins are starting to kick in. I smile to myself, never tiring of this feeling.

    I let the water run over my body for several extra minutes after washing myself- the environmentalist within me protesting- before I shut it off and towel-dry myself. I make sure to lather up my skin with a thick layer of lotion, then I throw on an outfit and twist my hair up in a towel.

    “Hey, Peeta, did you-” I start as I descend the stairs. I’m cut off by a loud shriek.

    “Peeta!” I exclaim, skipping the last few steps and leaping down to the landing. “Peeta, are you okay?”

    “Fine, fine! I’m okay, Katniss!” he yells back, though his tone suggests otherwise. He screeches again. “Okay,  _no_ , I’m not fine, there’s a bee in the house, Katniss!”

    I can’t help it. I crack up.

    As I expected, Peeta immediately begins whining. “Katniss, please don’t- _ah!_ ” He comes rushing into the room, looking utterly terrified, and I just laugh again. “ _Stop!_ ” he scolds me. “This isn’t funny! That’s a big-ass bee!”

    “Peeta, shut up.” I shake my head at him. “If you  _really_ want, I’ll be a big girl and kill the bee.”

    “No!” he rushes to stop me. “Don’t kill it.” At my quizzical look, he continues. “Can you just, like, let it outside or something?”

    I just roll my eyes and hunt for the thing. Tucked safely behind me, Peeta tells me it landed on the coffee table. I grab a magazine and roll it up in preparation, but then, as I lean down to peer at the insect, I pull up short.

    “That’s not…” I curse violently when it takes flight. “That’s not a bee, Peeta; _that’s a fucking_   _wasp._ ” I dart out of the room just as Peeta had done moments ago. He’s by my side soon after.

    “What’s the difference?” he asks me. “They’re both terrifying.”

    I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. Bees can only sting once before they die, and it’s not very painful. Wasps can sting a bunch of times, and it hurts way more.”

    He shrugs, but I barely have time to roll my eyes before the wasp is in the room and I’m on my way out. Peeta skitters closely behind, and I head up the stairs, hoping the stupid insect doesn’t follow.

    I find myself in the closet in our room, and Peeta shuts the door behind us. When he flicks on the light, I find the same terror in his expression as I’m sure is in mine.

    Suddenly, we’re both cracking up.

    After about a half an hour in the closet, I fall asleep with my head on Peeta’s lap, his deft hands loosening the knots in my wet hair and pulling through the strands. His ministrations are soothing, and I wake some time later to his soft snores.

    I chuckle again at our situation, but stop quickly when Peeta stirs. He smiles at me sleepily, and our forced proximity causes a heat in my core.

     _Thank God for that wasp._


	9. Day 9

_**"Imagine your OTP studying together, and for every question answered right, somebody has to take off a piece of clothing.”** _

    “Ding-ding-ding,” Johanna deadpans, rolling her eyes before snapping her French textbook closed and flipping onto her back. “ _Another_ one right. Big surprise. I really should stop calling you ‘Brainless’, huh?”

    I snort and then push on her shoulder. “Come on, Jo,” I whine. “I really need to keep studying.”

    “It’s open-note, Katniss,” Finnick teases from one side of me, and Peeta laughs from the other.

“I don’t care,” I reply. “I feel more pressure to pass because it’s senior year. Feels like colleges are paying, like, _really_ close attention to what I do now.” I flick Johanna on the forehead, ignoring the cutting glare she sends my way. “Let’s _go_. Open the book back up.”

“Fine,” she huffs, then stops with her hand on the cover of the textbook. “I’ll open the book back up.  _If_ …”

I groan. “What is it, Jo? What sick idea has your mind come up with now?”

She cackles, then throws her arms into the air. “Strip studying!”

“Johanna…” Peeta warns.

I send him a helpless glance before turning back to Johanna. “Jo, I am  _not_ -”

“If you answer a question correctly,” she continues, as if neither Peeta nor I have objected, “you get to choose someone to take a piece of clothing off of.”

Finnick makes a noise of intrigue. I groan again. Peeta is silent.

“I’m in,” Finnick says.

“I most certainly am  _not_ ,” I add.

“ _You_ don’t get a vote,” Johanna tells me, and I swear I will wring her neck. “If you want us to study with you, this is how we’re doing it.”

I huff in frustration, then turn to Peeta. “Do you  _approve_ of this?” I ask him.

    He clears his throat, refusing to meet my steely grey gaze. “I don’t really approve, per se… But I can’t really turn down an offer that includes you- I mean, _any_  girl- getting undressed.”

    I sputter uselessly for several moments, appalled with my best friend’s response, but Johanna laughs loudly and triumphantly.

    “Atta boy, Peeta!” she exclaims, but Peeta isn’t nearly as enthusiastic as she is.

     _Good_.

    Finnick chuckles slightly and tells me, “Look, Katniss, if you don’t want to have to take anything off, just keep being insanely smart, and don’t let anyone else get any questions right.”

    I ignore him. But I keep what he’s said in mind.

**X-X-X-X**

    Thirty minutes later, I sit within the same circle- this time most of us only half-dressed. Both my shoes and socks are removed- courtesy of Peeta, Finnick, Peeta, and Johanna, respectively- but for the most part, I am dominating this fucked-up study game. Peeta has lost both shoes and his shirt (which is fine by me), Finnick, his pants- leaving him in just his boxers- and Johanna, both her shirt and pants, leaving her in a tank top and a tiny pair of underwear. It doesn’t surprise me that she was so eager to remove said articles of clothing, nor that she’s wearing such undergarments beneath them.

    Nonetheless, Peeta and Finnick keep getting distracted by the sight of her- something that definitely does  _not_ escape Johanna’s notice- and I’ve had to recapture their attention numerous times. I feel a twinge of envy at Johanna’s confidence- something that doesn’t escape my notice- and her ability to so effortlessly flaunt her sexuality in others’ faces.

    So when Peeta answers the next question correctly- _“Nous avons mangé, bitches!”_ \- and turns to me expectantly, I whip my shirt over my head before I can have second thoughts.

    I hear Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, but I don’t look to see his expression. I take the book calmly from the center of our group- feeling utterly exposed in just my bra and skirt-  and read the next question on the page.

    When I do sneak a glance at him, though, he’s staring unabashedly at my chest. His gaze flickers to my face for a split second before returning to my breasts, and I smile to myself, feeling oddly powerful.

    When I ask Johanna the next question and see her smirking at me, I return it.

    I think I’m beginning to understand why she acts the way she does.


	10. Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the closest I've ever gotten to actually WRITING SMUT, so don't go too hard on me.   
> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine Person A keeps having nightmares about Person B. They don’t know what disturbs them more- how scary the dreams are, or how arousing they are.”** _

_“Peeta…”_

   I gasp and snap awake, my eyes flying open and my body wrenching forward until I’m sitting up in bed, panting and shaking off sleep and nightmares.

   The star of my latest night terrors is my own husband- no, not my husband, some twisted, threatening version of him I’ve only met during sleep.

   I’m _so close_ to catching it this time, so close to grabbing it in my clutches to find the source of my streak of bad dreams. But the memory of tonight’s dream’s details skitters away too quickly, and I’m left sitting up in bed, still half-asleep and terribly confused.

   But mostly, I’m feeling…  _exhilirated_. And excited. Frustrated, too, and…

   And  _aroused_.

   I give a little hiccup of a gasp with the realization, and I press a clammy hand to my stuttering heart in a poor attempt to calm it.

   God  _damn_ these nightmares, because surely that’s what’s causing this feeling, this sort of hunger, deep and low in my belly, all-consuming and utterly dangerous. Quickly I turn to Peeta, my breathing still shaky, and find his breathing still slow and deep.

   But the fire in my core rages stronger when my eyes light on him, and I’m hit with an  _oh-god-what-is-wrong-with-me_  stab of mortification when I realize he must be the source of my… _predicament_.

   Whatever happened in that god-awful dream world, I have no idea, but it’s simultaneously making me never want to sleep again and making me want to shut my eyes right away and force myself into that realm once again.

   So I settle for neither, just slowly untangle my legs from the covers and lay my head onto Peeta’s chest, then rest one of my legs on both of his- one real and one artificial. He says nothing, barely even stirs, just subconsciously wraps his arm around my shoulder. I sigh deeply, trying to ignore my pounding heart and flushed…  _everything_ , because  _god damn it why can’t you just calm down? It was nothing. Just a dream._

**X-X-X-X**

   It affects me more than usual, though, and even I can’t ignore the dark purple, bruise-like bags under my eyes, or the lethargy of my movements. Pretty soon Peeta notices, too, as I’m drifting in and out of consciousness one evening on the sofa.

`    “You okay?” he asks over his book, trying to sound casual, but the look in his eyes behind his ( _adorable_ ) glasses gives away everything.

   “Y-Yeah,” I reply, trying to keep my eyes open. “Just-”  _Yawn_ “-tired.”

   “For the past five days, though?” he asks skeptically, and I’m not surprised he’s kept track. “You’re never this exhausted for so long.”

   “I… I’ve just been having a series of really bad dreams,” I tell him, refusing to admit that that’s not even the half of it. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

   He smiles softly when I use his words from such a long, long time ago, and then he pulls me into his side and kisses the top of my head.

**X-X-X-X**

That night brings the same events, and I’m moaning Peeta’s name over and over when he wakes me. I open my eyes hesitantly to take in the soft hues of dawn and Peeta’s face, hovering inches above mine.

“Katniss,” he says, one last time to make sure I’m awake.

I can’t be sure in the dim lighting, but I think he’s smirking at me. Then he starts kissing a trail up my neck and all thinking is over. I gasp a little, relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin, knowing this seems  _so familiar_ , but soon he’s pulling away and looking me in the eye.    

“That didn’t sound like a nightmare to me,” he whispers throatily, and I barely have time to blush before his mouth descends onto mine.


	11. Day 11

**_“Person A has given up on love. Nope. Love is not for them. Forget that… And then they meet Person B and think: ‘Annnd this is the asshole who will ruin everything.’”_**  

After a particularly brutal breakup with a childhood friend who should have stayed just that, I had decided I wasn’t meant for love. Approximately five relationships had gone down the drain since I’d joined this “game”. So, yep. I was done. I was.  

 _‘Was’_. Past tense. Ironically enough, I’m currently teaching this exact lesson to my kindergarteners. No one you’d ask would ever guess that I’d become a teacher. But I practically raised my little sister myself, so I’m good with children. Besides, they’re much easier to interact with than adults.

 I’ve just asked the twenty-or-so kids in front of me to  _please raise their hands_ if they know the answer when Peeta walks past the door, leading his own line of chubby child legs down the hall. My breath catches in my throat when he glances up and smiles at me, that beautiful, familiar smile, and I return a weak one of my own.

It was only two months ago that I’d been wary of that easy, boyish grin.

 **X-X-X-X**   

 I walked into the school auditorium, a map of the school still clutched in my only-slightly-trembling hands, and roamed the rows of seats with my eyes. To my utter despair, most every one of the teachers at the orientation seemed to know each other, if their easy conversation was any indication. My heart sunk further in my chest the longer I walked up and down the aisle, trying in vain to find an open seat, and pretty soon I wanted to either puke or cry or sprint out the way I’d just entered. Maybe all three. 

   “Hey,” a voice called out from behind me.   

 I swung around, willing myself not to do  _any_ of previously mentioned things, and was met with gold and blue. Gold and blue. It was like freakin’ Hanukkah.     

   The man had a mop of tousled curls the color of straw, and his heavenly cobalt eyes smiled at me from behind his solid square frames. He was sporting that sexy-professor look, with a royal blue sweater thrown over a white button-down. Sleeves rolled up. I found myself unconsciously licking my lips.  

  “Hey,” he repeated, and my eyes quickly darted up to his. A flush quickly overtook my cheeks, both under his intense gaze and out of shame that he might have caught me staring.   

 “You must be Katniss Everdeen, yeah?”  

  “Uh, I- yeah. How did you know?” I asked.   

  “I knew there was supposed to be one newbie, and you’re the only one here I didn’t recognize.” Anyone else could have made the words condescending, but he punctuated his with a smile so dazzling and genuine that I immediately felt myself relax a few degrees.       

 “Peeta Mellark, by the way,” he added, holding out his hand, and I grasped and shook it. It was so large and warm, enveloped around my slender, constantly frigid one, and  _how was he making me feel this way?_

  “Katniss- Well, you know me,” I replied nervously, but he just chuckled and gestured to the seat next to his.  

  “Sit here, if you want. This is usually where the kindergarten teachers congregate during these things, anyway.”  

  My chest flooded with an unexpected warmth when I realized he would be in close proximity with me, possibly for the rest of my career here. I offered him a first small, genuine smile since I had walked in, and then I took the offered seat. 

    I felt much more at ease with these thoughts in my head and Peeta sitting next to me.

 **X-X-X-X**  

   Over the course of the next few weeks, Peeta and I became fast friends, mostly because we contrasted each other. He could socialize easily; I slowly came out of my shell. He was funny in a sweet and self-deprecating way; I was sarcastic and snarky, which he told me was new to him. He talked, a lot; I listened, especially enjoying it when he was the one I was listening to.  

  We were able to interact mainly through the (seemingly hundreds of) mandatory workshops we attended, almost all of which Peeta had been through a  _million_ times, as he told me. I sought him out as soon as I got there, because I had a hard time making new friends and he always pretended to be enthusiastic in speaking to me, which I appreciated. He had dozens of friends at this school, but somehow he was always willing to entertain me.   

  And slowly, oh,  _ever so_  slowly, I began to feel it. The affection. The excitement in seeing him the next day. The eagerness to just hold a conversation with him. The readiness to laugh at every single joke he made, no matter how corny.  

   And, pretty soon, the straight-up…  _love_. And the  _fear_ that immediately followed it, because hadn’t this exact thing happened to me so many times before? And hadn’t I  _just_ vowed against feeling this way forever?  

  So I denied it, pushed away those  _god damn_  feelings, refused the idea with all of my strength.   

  And for a while, it had worked.

 **X-X-X-X**   

But the knowledge is always there, and now, as Peeta looks over his glasses to crinkle those eyes at me in greeting, it niggles at the edges of my mind.   

  I come back to reality soon after, when a small, precious little girl named Acacia waves her hand impatiently in the air, trying her best to follow the rules Miss Everdeen had worked hard to instill. 

   I mentally shake myself and come to my senses.   

  “Acacia?” I ask, and she answers my previous question of: _“Can anyone give me a sentence using the word ‘was’?”_

 “Very good, Acacia,” I reply, and write her sentence on the board behind me, mentally coming up with some of my own.   

  _I **was** convinced I was done with love. _

  “Now,” I continue, “can anyone give me a sentence using the word ‘am’?”  

  A boy near the back raises his hand and gives me his example, which I praise and copy onto the board.   

_I **am** so fucked.  _

 


	12. Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine your OTP is wrestling over the remote.“** _

Balancing a beer bottle atop my sandwich plate impressively, I traipse into the living room and plop down onto the couch. I can still hear Peeta’s tuneless singing from the kitchen as he makes his own sandwich, and I smile at him. 

"You know,” I say, “most guys right now would be making some dumb joke about how I’m the woman and I should be making your dumb sandwich." 

"But I’m not most misogynistic men,” Peeta replies, then glances up at me, smiling. “And that’s why you love me." 

I roll my eyes playfully. "Don’t push it, loser." 

I flick on the television set, turning through the stations, until I find one I like, then silently congratulate myself on managing to select the one channel that still plays ’ _Drake & Josh_’. 

Peeta pads into the room a minute later, and I lift my plate off the end of the couch so he can lower himself down next to me.

 "Damn, forgot the chips,” I mutter to myself, then rise to return to the kitchen.

I grab the bag of potato chips I’d left on the counter before finding my place on the sofa again.

 It’s only when I’m lifting my sandwich to my mouth to take the first bite that I stop. 

“Um…” I trail off, hoping Peeta- who now has the remote clutched in his hand- will get the hint. 

He just hums at me in acknowledgement, not really hearing me, just alerting me that he knows I’ve spoken.

 “Um, babe,“ I try again, then reach for the remote. "No, no." 

He dodges my swiping hand, still fixated on the screen, and I scoff.

 "Peeta!” I scold. “We’re watching ’ _Drake & Josh_’." 

"Funny,” he replies; his multitasking abilities are truly impressive, what with his eyes still glued to the television, “I don’t recall us having an  _agenda_ for what shows we watch." 

"Yeah, well, then, I guess you didn’t get the memo. We’re watching ’ _Drake & Josh_’.”

“We’re watching ’ _Cupcake Wars_ ’,” he shoots back. 

“ _Peeta_ ,” I whine, because he always seems to give in when I start whining, “it’s the same series of events every episode. Please can we watch my show?" 

He shakes his head and I huff in exasperation. Then I grab for the remote again and, just like last time, he pulls it away at the last second. 

When he turns to me, an eyebrow raised, I know he’s started something he won’t win. 

I push a hand to his face, forcing his head back, and grab the remote while his eyes are covered. He groans against my palm and I laugh smugly. Then I pull away my hand.

I’m just pointing the remote at the box below the TV when he reaches from behind me and snatches it from my hands again. I gasp and whip around, my steely glare meeting his blue eyes, twinkling with amusement.

“Peeta…” I warn. “I’m giving you one last chance. Give me the remote.”

The grin stays on his face, and he just reaches out a finger and tweaks the tip of my nose, almost affectionately. I take it as a challenge. 

I practically hurl myself at him, my arms linking around his neck and my legs, around his waist. Peeta yelps, but I just cling tighter to him as he topples over onto the couch and then rolls off onto the floor. He manages to come out on top, and he places both hands on either side of my head, hovering above me and smiling at me teasingly. 

I feign surrender, returning his smile and placing a hand on the back of his neck to lower his face to mine. I fight a smile when he gives in easily.

 _Works every time._   

A split second before our lips meet, I send my knee straight to his groin. He grunts pitifully, and I roll him off of me and flip our positions, plucking the remote from his loose grasp and clicking the station back to  _my show_.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on Peeta’s chest, my beer by my foot and my sandwich half-gone, enjoying a quality episode of ‘ _Drake & Josh_’. 


	13. Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine Person A of your OTP seeing Person B with bed hair for the first time, and being totally blown away by how cute/hot/etc. they look with their hair being a huge mess. Bonus: if Person A gets flustered when Person B pokes fun at them for liking it.”_ **

“Peeta,” I whisper, and then nudge the big lug beside me. “Peeta, wake up.”

He grumbles for a few moments, something unintelligible and probably mean-spirited (which shows that he really is exhausted- Peeta wouldn’t dare utter a single bad thing about me while fully conscious), and I smile at his sleepiness.

“Come, on, babe,” I urge, and, when I see he has no intention of rising any time soon, I kiss him awake. He perks up pretty quickly after that.

He blinks blearily at me when I pull away, then scratches at his chin. “Why?” he asks simply.

I crack a smile. “You have to go to the bakery.”  When he continues to affix me with a blank look, I say, “Work, You have to work, Peeta. It’s six and it’s time for you to go.”

He groans and flops his head back down to the pillow. “Just… fuck work.”

I laugh and press a kiss to his shoulder before popping out of bed. I’d always been a morning person. “Come on. You get dressed and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

He raises his head from the bed to look me over. Then he frowns. “You got dressed? I was kind of hoping you’d at least bribe me out of bed by still being naked.”

I shake my head at him and smile. “Sorry, kiddo,” I say, then flip the covers down off of him. I make my way to the kitchen, leveling him with a  _get-off-your-ass-or-else_  glare on my way out.

I busy my mind with thoughts of last night- my first time actually sleeping overnight after sex- and nearly scorch my hand on the fresh, scalding-hot pot of coffee I’d just made. I pour us both coffees- Peeta’s in a travel mug- and set the two cups on the counter before returning to his bedroom, singing a nameless tune.

My breath catches at the sight of my now-awake boyfriend, standing beside his bed, clad only in a pair of flannel pajama pants, rubbing his eyes. Besides all the naked skin there that my eyes hurry to drink in, I can’t seem to get over his hair. Not the perfectly-coiffed, perfectly-parted golden array of waves he usually sports, but a complete mess of errant strands poking this way and that. It looks absolutely ridiculous.

And  _insanely_ adorable.

I don’t know how long I stand there, warring with myself ( _should I cross the threshold of the room, or continue to admire his beauty for a while longer?_ ), only that at some point, Peeta finishes rubbing his eyes and stretching and finds me gawking at him. I finally decide to join him in his room. He opens his arms and I wrap myself in his warm embrace.

He kisses the top of my head. “I really like when you sing while doing random things. I mean, I really like you singing at  _any_ time, but…”

I smile up at him and run a hand through his messy curls. “And _I_ really like your massive case of bedhead.”

He gives me a funny look, a smile spreading across his face. “You  _like_ my morning hair?”

“No,” I deny, my face flaming. “I mean, it’s  _dorky_.”

But Peeta just laughs. “Oh, no, you said you  _liked_ it. Katniss Everdeen likes my bed hair!”

He starts shouting it over and over again, and I press a hand to his mouth to shut him up.

“Shut  _up_ ,” I scold him. “Fine. I  _like_ your bed hair. It’s  _hot_. Okay? Happy?”

He smiles at me before pulling on a t-shirt and jeans. “Very.”


	14. Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine your OTP intertwining their fingers together while they’re in bed.”_ **

“You can’t even  _argue_ correctly, Peeta,” I hiss, then stalk off to our bedroom and throw myself under the covers.

He follows me soon after, like some hurt and petulant- yet oddly loyal- puppy.

He’ll obviously apologize to me, as he always does, as though it’s his fault- though it almost never is. I started the fight, and I know I should be the one to relent and atone for my actions, but somehow I manage to let him voice the regrets every time.

“Katniss,” Peeta says to me softly in the dark sometime later. “I’m sorry. I should listen to you better.”

I sigh quietly and, of course, immediately find myself in remorse for ever raising my voice to him. “You can’t just keep running off like that, Peeta.”

“I’m just so terrified that I’ll hurt you one of these days. Like… the first time. When 13 got me back.”

My heart clenches in remembrance of that day, the day that the entire game was changed when Peeta attacked me. The day my heart shattered in a million tiny pieces, when I was sure there was nothing left to put them back together.

“I can take care of myself. I won’t let you even come near me.” I know he isn’t satisfied by this answer, so I continue. “I trust you, Peeta. Not to hurt me. Even when you’re like that.”

I turn on my side to face him, watching his profile, his shining eyes lit by the moonlight streaming in through the curtains. “I love you, Peeta. Too much to let you keep hiding away from me every time you have an episode.”

He releases a deep, shaky breath with my words. “Okay. If you’re sure. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

Under the covers, his fingers graze mine, asking silent permission. I grant it, stretching out my own and lacing them with his, two weak links intertwining to create an unbreakable bond.


	15. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine your OTP have a morning class together and person A always walks in late and has obviously just woken up and person B thinks that the grumpy person who sits in front of him is the cutest thing ever.”** _

She’s wearing dark green today, rather than the deep burgundy it’d been last class. She looks amazing in sweaters, I’ve discovered, though the things always hang loose on her slender frame.

This is just one of the facts I’ve come to learn about the mysterious girl, though I don’t know her name, or really much else about her.

I may be new to this school, but it would take an idiot not to notice the attention she captures when she enters a room. Almost every pair of eyes turns to her as soon as she walks through the door- though she never seems to notice, or care- and I swear I can hear the collective sigh of every male in the room.

I can’t help but pitch in to the sound. There’s something so puzzlingly intriguing about this girl, but it can’t be narrowed down to just one attribute. It isn’t her sunny disposition, that’s for damn sure. No, she won’t win any awards for personality, but the ambiguity behind her character seems to make up for all that.

So when she trudges into the room this morning, head down, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, it’s all I can do to keep from openly gawking at her.

With her raven hair, grey eyes, and skinny body, you wouldn’t think there’d be anything physically enticing about her. But the way she carries herself gives off an entirely different feel- like there’s something much more there, something I want desperately to figure out.

She plops down into the seat in front of me without so much as a glance backward, though, so I’m forced to tune back in to the beginnings of today’s lesson.

**X-X-X-X**

A week later, on my way out the door, I act purely on impulse and fill one of the bakery’s cardboard cups with coffee, completely guessing on what to add into it. Then I pop the lid into place and rush off to school.

She makes her usual entrance about five minutes into the lesson- this time sporting an ill-fitting brown leather jacket and a braid down her back. As she slides into her seat and faces forward toward the teacher, I tap her on the shoulder and whisper, “Hey.”

She turns completely to me, not worrying in the slightest about being scolded by the teacher, and shoots me a quizzical- but not unfriendly- look.

I slide the coffee cup, still steaming, towards her and then smile. “Here. You kind of look like you need it.”

Several terrifying moments pass where I’m afraid she’ll reject or even humiliate me. But then a small smile slides slowly across her stunning face, and her enchanting grey eyes slide up to meet mine.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking the cup in her small hands, then turns back around before deciding against it. “Hey, you’re new, right? What’s your name?”

“Uh, I- Peeta.” I cringe inwardly at my stuttering. “Mellark.”

The girl just smiles again, this time even giving me a glimpse of her bright white teeth.

“Nice to meet you, Peeta Mellark. I’m Katniss Everdeen.” She clasps my hand.

I just stare at her stupidly for a few moments, enraptured by every detail about her.

 _Katniss_. So she finally has a name.

“Mr. Mellark, Ms. Everdeen,” calls the professor from the front of the room. “If you two are done, I’d like to continue with my lesson.”

My face burns with embarrassment, but Katniss barely reacts, taking a sip of the coffee and grinning at me over the cup before sliding back around to sit properly in her seat.

Her hand must have seared a mark into my skin, because I swear I can feel it for the rest of the day.


	16. Day 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Person A leaving thigh hickeys on person B.”_ **

“Peeta, you can’t–” I laugh and push his head off of my legs. “Stop.”

“I can’t stop?” he asks, amused, and quirks an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. “You know what I meant. I don’t want you leaving marks.”

He pouts. “But I  _want_ to leave marks.”

“I don’t care! I have to go home in, like, five minutes, and my mom will have my head if she sees someone’s left a hickey.”

“Do you really  _have_ to go?” Peeta groans, and then his mouth is back on my leg.

“ _Yes_ ,” I insist, barely convincing myself. “My mom needs me home for dinner because she’s having her  _boyfriend_ over.”

“Ooh, her boyfriend? And how are you feeling about all this?” Peeta lifts his lips from my skin for a moment to speak.

I sigh. “Pretty shitty. But I’m not expecting her to grieve over my dad her whole life.”

“Promise me you won’t poison and/or scare off this boyfriend?”

I smile mischievously and shrug. He gives me an insistent look and I shake my head humorously.

“Fine. I promise. I’ll do my best to be someone  _other_ than my actual self.”

“That’s not what I said,” he laughs.

“Shh,” I reply.

I feel his mouth on me and close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his lips and tongue. Then, realizing the effect this could have, I prod Peeta– a little more firmly this time– and wiggle out from under him.

“Babe, I have to go now.”

He sighs deeply and rolls his head off of my lap, sitting up.

“Bye,” I say, then give him a quick peck on the lips, refusing to allow him any more.

He whines when I pull away, but gives his own farewell before walking me to the door. I pull away from his house in my beat-up old geezer of a car, waving at Peeta through his glass front door.

Once I reach home, I shut off the ignition and sit in the stuffy car for a minute, mentally preparing myself for the storm of preparation amongst my mother and little sister that is sure to greet me when I walk in.

A few minutes later, my prediction comes true, and Prim and my mother barely offer a “hello” in passing before rushing off to finish hair, makeup, and house presentation. I stand at the counter for several minutes, watching it all happen as if they were a time lapse video and I were the viewer.

Then, at one point, my mother stops several feet in front of me, surveying me.

“Get ready soon,” she tells me. “Daniel will be here–  _Katniss!_ ” she exclaims, and I jump.

“What?” I ask, worried.

“What is  _that?_  What happened?”

I see her surveying my legs and look down, only to be faced with the ugliest-looking marks I’ve ever seen on my skin. They’re flowering over my right thigh, a reddish-purple sort of bloom in various places across the expanse of my leg.

I’m confused for a moment, utterly terrified about where these even came from, but then I remember: Peeta. My face flushes deeply and I swallow hard, lifting my head to meet my mother’s concerned gaze.

I just smile at her. “Hit my leg on the kitchen table the other day,” I tell her, then walk past her and down the hall to my bedroom.

Flopping face-up on my bed, I slip my phone from my back pocket and shoot a quick text to Peeta.

 **Katniss** :  _Next time, YOU try explaining to my mother the purple marks all over my legs._

He replies instantly, and I can practically hear his snarky tone through the phone.

 **Peeta** :  _Should’ve just told her the truth._

 **Katniss** :  _Yes, because, “Oh, don’t worry, Mom, my boyfriend was just sucking on my legs,” is a much better answer._

 **Peeta** : _I think you should feel honored to have those hickeys on your legs. Provided by yours truly, Peeta Mellark._

 **Katniss** :  _Well, ‘yours truly’, maybe next time you should be a little more careful._

 **Peeta** :  _Oh, please, I know you’re not actually mad at me._

 **Katniss** :  _And how is that, exactly?_

 **Peeta** :  _You’re still texting me. If you were really upset with me, you would have left already._

I pause a moment, feeling the emotions warring within me. A small smile eventually spreads across my face as reluctant affection seeps through the cracks of my resolve.

 **Katniss** :  _Fuck you._


	17. Day 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they’ve had a fight.”_ **

“And God  _forbid_ you  _ever_ do the laundry.”

“Maybe because I’m  _working_ all day to make  _money_ for us.”

I’m about to bite out a retort to Peeta’s point when the elevator shudders and comes to a stop. The reply dies in my throat.

I glance up at the floor level projected above the elevator doors. It reads  _4_. The car shouldn’t be stopping before  _7_.

“What’s going on?” Peeta mumbles, and shoves the door with his palm in a weak attempt to get the elevator moving again.

“How should I know? I’m not a mechanic.” I cross my arms.

Peeta rolls his eyes. “It was rhetorical, sweetheart.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have asked it, then.”

Peeta huffs and runs a hand through his blond curls. “Katniss, stop being so petty. Yes, I left a used napkin on the table. Alright? I’m admitting it. Get over it and get over yourself.”

His words sting, and I feel a pinch behind my eyes.  _No_. I won’t cry. I’m too stubborn to do it, too stubborn to react to his words at all.

Except for the obligatory eye roll, of course.

A few minutes later, however, when the elevator hasn’t budged an inch, nor has it revealed any inclination to, I feel a slight pang of remorse for starting the argument at all. He’s right about everything– as usual– and I feel like a complete fool for making such a big deal out of a trivial matter.

But I still won’t apologize.

It’s about thirty minutes and half of a mental breakdown on my part later when my resolve finally breaks.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “You know, in case we die in here.”

Peeta gives me a funny look. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” I repeat, slightly louder but still at muttering level.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“I  _said_ , I’m  _sorry_.” I clench my teeth to brace myself.

Peeta gasps and clutches his heart dramatically. “In all my twenty-five years, I never would have thought I would live to hear Katniss Everdeen utter those words.”

Despite my attempts at sulking, the corners of my mouth twitch up in amusement. “I don’t like you. At all.”

Peeta just smirks at me. “Yes, you do.”

“No, I  _don’t_.”

Peeta moves toward me– only a couple steps in this small elevator car– and I back against the wall.

“I know you do,” he says, and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“You’re not getting the message,” I reply, and push his arm away.

“Yes, I know you do,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “In fact, I think you might even  _love_ me.” He draws out the word  _love_ , and I roll my eyes at his immaturity.

Suddenly he’s in front of and all around me, wrapping me in a big, cozy bear-hug, and I can’t help but smile and breathe in his own Peeta-scent: cologne, cinnamon, dill, a mixture of other things I’d never be able to put a name to.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair, and the intimacy of the moment almost makes me sob.

“Shut up, you big doof,” I reply, wearing a silly smile. “I love you, too.” 

 


	18. Day 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine your OTP getting in a fight and one of them yelling that they love the other one and then it gets really quiet.”_ **

Peeta winces as he lifts himself from his couch, and my heart clenches in sympathy.

Reading my expression, he waves me off, telling me he’s perfectly fine, he doesn’t need help. But I know better. There’s no way he could be “perfectly fine” with such a nasty limp.

With my limited knowledge in the medical field, I’d say it’s a sprain, based on the fact that he’s able to have any mobility at all. We probably won’t ever truly know what his issue is, because Peeta wouldn’t let me take him to a doctor.

“It’s really okay, Katniss,” he had told me in the car on the way home from his rugby game. “Just twisted my ankle a bit.”

But his words were punctuated by a sharp intake of breath beside me in the passenger seat, and right away I had been able to tell it was bad. I was proven right a couple of hours later, when it began to swell and the bruises began to flower across it.

“I just wish-” I start now, but he cuts me off.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Peeta scolds. “Katniss, you promised you wouldn’t be mad at me for this.”

“How can I  _not_ be mad at you, Peeta? You sprained your ankle, and you refuse to see a medical professional about it!”

“I  _twisted_ my ankle. And it’s fine. I’ll be a man and suck it up.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Right. Because being a ‘man’ entails ignoring an obvious injury. This isn’t your fragile masculinity in question here, Peeta. I’m genuinely worried about your god damn leg.”

“I’m not quitting rugby.”

I just sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I know. And I don’t expect you to. But could you at least wait for your ankle to heal?”

“Yeah, I told you, I’ll give it a week or so–”

“I’m talking a  _month_ , Peeta. At least. And you have to agree to let me take you to see someone with some medical training, even if it’s just my mom.”

Peeta’s features immediately school into a scowl. “No. I’m not waiting anywhere close to a month to play.”

“It’s not  _safe_ to play on an injury, Peeta!” My voice is rising steadily now, both in pitch and in volume- it’s clear to both of us that I’m getting upset.

“You’re not my mother, Katniss. You don’t make decisions for me. You don’t rule my life.” His words hurt, and I can see by his expression that he instantly regrets them, but he doesn’t take them back.

“But, Peeta, I care about you  _so_ much, and with the concussion you got last year, and now this… I’m just so  _scared_.” I whisper these last few words.

“I was fine then and I’m going to be fine now. Katniss, I really don’t see why you’re making–”

“ _Because I love you!_ ”

All argument stops. His kitchen falls silent, and Peeta’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my throat, my ears…

I’m crying now. Peeta gasps softly and limps over to me as quickly as he can. I land in his open arms a second before I’m about to slide to the floor, and I turn to his broad chest to muffle my sobs. Peeta lowers down into a chair, and then he shushes me and smoothes my hair down as he rocks me back and forth.

“Katniss, listen…” he starts after I’ve settled down a bit, and I lift my tear-stained face and swipe under my nose disgustingly.

“Listen, I didn’t know it would happen exactly like this, but I do love you, too, you know.”

We’ve never exchanged these words before now, and while I hadn’t exactly pictured it going like this, either, I’m almost glad it did. Saying the phrase in such a moment makes it feel genuine.

I’d been avoiding saying those words in my lifetime to anyone but my sister. After witnessing first-hand the depression my mother had slipped into after my father’s untimely death, I had sworn against love, truly believing it never held positive results.

I explain all of this to Peeta.

“And now, you’re here, ruining everything,” I say softly, and Peeta chuckles.

“Sorry?” he manages, and I shake my head and laugh.

“I really do love you. I just didn’t know when I’d get around to saying it.” I take a deep, shuddering breath and release it slowly in an attempt at calming myself.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick around and ruin your life some more,” Peeta says, smiling warmly down at me.

There’s a wet spot on the front of his t-shirt where he’d held me just moments ago. Peeta has seen me at my best, and he sure as hell has seen me at my worst. I want to go through all of it with him.

“I think I’d love that.”


	19. Day 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine person A of your OTP scaring person B (during Halloween) on accident so badly that they cry.”_ **

“Peeta, I’ve thought of a funny pun to go along with my costume,” I shout, affixing the cat ears to the top of my head to complete my look for tonight.

But my boyfriend doesn’t answer, and so I furrow my brow and yell it again, louder this time. “Want to hear it?” I ask the silence in the room.

No reply. What the hell?

“Peeta?” I call out, checking my makeup and outfit for imperfections before going searching for Peeta, whom I  _swear_ was just here a minute ago.

“Can I tell you the pun now? You’re going to roll your eyes, but–”

I let out a piercing shriek at the sight of a bloodied body lying on the floor beside our couch.

Not just any body.  _Peeta’s_ body.

I screech again, some sort of dying-animal sound, and sink to my knees before him.  _What the hell is going on?_

I see the knife protruding from his chest and I start sobbing, convulsing, body-wracking sobs.

“Peeta, oh  _god_ …”

I reach for the knife but stop myself, remembering an excerpt from some magazine ages ago that had said not to pull out the object if a person was impaled.

“Peeta, Peeta,  _Peeta_ …”

I touch his chest, his face, his neck, anything to connect myself to him in this moment.

I see no signs of life but I pull out my cell phone to contact the police anyway, still hiccuping and gasping with grief.

His laughter is my first clue.

It begins as just an exhale, a breath through his nose he just can’t contain. Then it bubbles up through his chest, giggles turning into full-bodied laughter, sounding wholly unamusing to my sniveling self.

Then he opens his eyes, those perfect pools of sunlight in this otherwise gloomy moment. He smiles at me, still choking back laughter, so much more full of life than I had thought just a minute earlier.

“Happy Halloween?” he begins softly, and the whole situation is so ridiculous I almost can’t stand it.

I burst into tears again and Peeta’s up in a flash, arms encompassing my whole being and drawing me to his solid chest that– _thank god_ – holds his steady heartbeat.

“Hey, shh…” he soothes, smoothing a hand over my prepped and curled hair. “I’m sorry. Hey, it’s alright. I’m okay. I’m alive.”

He’s such a stable source of comfort that I almost let him by without a scratch. But then I remember I’m  _mad_ at him and I straighten up, swiping at my face. A quick examination of my hand afterward shows that I have, indeed, ruined my makeup. _Damn_.

“What the  _hell_ was that, Peeta?”

He smiles tentatively and shoots those god damn puppy-dog eyes at me. My scowl just deepens.

“Sorry?”

“You’re a  _dick_ , Peeta! That wasn’t okay!”

He clears his throat and drops his– thankfully, ashamed– gaze to the floor.

“And you ruined my makeup, fucking douchebag. Took me an entire hour to do. Now we’re going to be late to the party, and  _you_ can explain to Finnick and Annie the reason why.” I stand and straighten my dress, still huffing and muttering under my breath.

I turn at the doorway to see Peeta still on the ground, fiddling with the artificial knife in his chest.

“Get up and take that knife out,” I order him, fully aware of the ridiculousness of that sentence. “And get your costume on, too. We have to leave soon.”

He looks up at me, and my heart seizes in my chest at the look in his wide blue eyes.

“You cried… because of me. Because you thought I was dead,” he says, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course,” I say softly, then roll my eyes dramatically when I see him smiling to himself. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You’re still an asshole.”

“ _Your_ asshole,” he replies. “The asshole you  _love_.”

“Yeah, let’s announce that at the party: ‘Katniss loves her asshole.’ It’ll go over  _real_ well.”

“Trick or treat,” Peeta calls to me when I walk back to the bathroom to do my makeup. Again.

“Trick or  _trick_ , motherfucker,” I reply. “You’d better believe I’m getting you back.”

I can hear his groan and practically sense his fear. Then I smile.

A cat and her prey.


	20. Day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine your OTP cuddling under a blanket on a cold winter night. Person A gently wrapping their arms around Person B and lightly kissing down their neck making Person B shiver from something other than the cold outside.”_**  

Outside:

Howling winds,

A flurry of snowflakes,

Shimmering icicles.

 

Inside:

A roaring fire,

Fuzzy blankets,

Old Christmas programs.

 

Arms encircle me, shielding me from the outside world–

My castle, my barrier.

 

The gentlest of kisses

Up and down my neck,

Over and over,

The lips of my husband

Behind the small, sleepy backs of my children.

 

I shiver–

Not from the cold.

No, it is  _toasty_ warm in here now.


	21. Day 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine your OTP running into each other under the mistletoe. Person A blushes and goes to suggest that they don’t have to kiss but Person B cuts them off with a kiss.”** _

The fun ends with fumbling and the spilling of a very drunk Johanna’s egg nog–  _all_ over Katniss’s ugly Christmas sweater (not that I’m insulting it– Johanna had specifically told the guests of her Christmas party to wear such attire). Katniss squeaks in surprise and stands immediately, cursing under her breath and holding out her dripping arms.

“Fuck you, Jo,” Katniss hisses, and Johanna apologizes but laughs airily. “Ugh, I have to go clean myself up.” Katniss breezes past Johanna, Finnick, Annie, and me, her jaw clenched in mostly-contained annoyance.

“The fuck, Jo!” Finnick exclaims. “Your dumb ass ruined all the fun.”

Jo just smiles stupidly and raises her now empty glass. “No regrets.” Then she turns to me, where I’m staring after Katniss, chewing my lip pensively. “Peet, you big doof. Go get her.”

Annie smiles as well. “Come on, Peeta.”

Finnick appears ridiculously confused, but when he starts to ask questions, Annie just places a finger over his lips and shakes her head.

“ _Peeta_ …” Johanna groans, then leans over and smacks me on the shoulder.

“Alright, alright,” I snap, then raise myself from the floor and head off in Katniss’s direction.

As I walk out of the room, I can’t help but notice the glint in Johanna’s eyes that suggests she is, in fact, entirely sober.

**X-X-X-X**

“Oh– excuse me.” I blush, exiting the bathroom, and begin to brush past an also-embarrassed-looking Peeta in the doorway.

“Sorry, Katniss,” he mumbles, then kind of just stands there.

Johanna comes running out of nowhere to where Peeta and I are standing idly– he just won’t move– and sticks her arm up in the air.

I don’t understand at first. Then she makes her intent blatantly clear.

“Mistletoe, motherfuckers. Kiss.” We don’t. She yells, “ _Now!_ ”

“Johanna…” I begin.

Peeta and I belong to the same friend group, and we’re fairly close, but not like this. We’re both fairly reserved people, and a very outgoing Johanna making us kiss is about the maximum level of discomfort we can reach.

Not exactly the scenario I’d pictured when imagining kissing Peeta Mellark, but this is probably the best I’m going to get. So I lean toward him.

And promptly smash my nose into his. I hiss violently and clutch my face. I can hear Johanna snort from beside us and I shoot her a glare, silencing her immediately.

My face flushes deeply when I look back up to Peeta’s questioning blue gaze, and suddenly my hands are shaking and my heart is practically tearing itself out of my chest.

“Sorry,” he says softly, and I just wave off his apology. Then we fall silent.

Christ. Could this get any more awkward?

“Um, we don’t– I mean, if you don’t want to kiss, we don’t have to–”

I let out a little squeak as his warm lips press against mine suddenly, causing me to choke back any protestations I’d had in mind.

It’s sensational– clumsy and blunderous, sure, but better than anything I could have hoped for. Peeta’s mouth is incredibly soft, and I’m not sure how long I revel in it before he and I break away to the sound of applause.

Annie, Finnick, and Johanna all stand in the hall, clapping and cat-calling. My face is beet-red– both from the kiss and the humiliation– and feels almost to the point of exploding. At one point, Annie yells, “Finally!”

I’m not sure who that’s directed at, but I know that I wholeheartedly agree.

 


	22. Day 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine person A of your OTP wearing person B’s clothes.”** _

Morning sneaks up on us, with the first few tentative rays of sunshine seeping in through the cracks of the blinds on the windows. The pinks and purples are especially vivid here in the Capitol-- though whether that’s the light glinting off of the buildings or some filter on these windows, I’m not sure.

I slip out from both Peeta’s arms and the layers of downy comforter on my bed and pad to the window on my typically silent feet. Peeta groans and shifts but otherwise stays wholly, blissfully asleep.

I stand before the window, naked as the day I was born, and press my palm to the cool glass. I almost smile at the hand-shaped smudge I leave there ( _finally_ leaving an imperfection on their golden city), but decide against it as the smudge disappears, practically absorbing into the glass. Must be yet another piece of Capitol technology.

Typical.

I sigh and press my forehead against the window.

One more day until my imminent slaughter.

Suddenly wracked with shivers, I bend down and throw on a shirt that’d been carelessly tossed to the ground last night. Then I look out onto the painted pastel skyline of the Capitol.

It would be such a beautiful place if I didn’t know its people, its preferred pastimes-- watching children kill and be killed for sport-- or my future here, as one of said children. The delicate shades of rosy pink fade into a mesmerizing lilac color, with a bit of yellow here, a touch of green there. Below, the first signs of life are starting to emerge, though it can’t be later than six or seven and the Capitolites are known for getting their fair share of beauty sleep: a few cars, far more advanced even than the one that had transported Peeta and me here from 12. One or two hung-over Capitol citizens, dressed in last night’s gaudy clothing and stumbling hopelessly through the streets. A single cat-- even _its_ fur is dyed a dazzling sky-blue color-- roaming from door to candy-colored door. The city is still so sleepy and quiet yet that I can hear the feline’s lost mewls. My heart suddenly clenches, a fresh round of despair when I’m reminded of Buttercup at home-- even that demonic animal can bring this emotion out of me-- and then, of course, Prim. If she were here, she’d rush outside-- down all twelve floors of this training center-- and take the kitten into her arms, whispering soft, soothing words into its ear and knocking on every door, searching for its lost owner.

But I can’t bear to think about her-- or anyone at home, really-- right now, because then it’ll get me all worked up and teary. _Again_. And I certainly can’t have that. So I take deep, calming breaths, willing the tears away and running a hand over last night’s braid. When I feel the disarray the tresses are in, I eventually just slip the elastic from the ends and shake it loose.

“I kind of need to draw this,” I hear Peeta’s voice, rugged from sleep, say quietly. “Like, right now.”

My face breaks into an unexpected smile-- I certainly didn’t give it permission to do _that_ \-- and I press the cool backs of my hands to my now-blushing cheeks before turning to face Peeta, who’s sitting up in bed with a silly smile.

“Morning,” I greet him.

“Though it would be a little difficult,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken, “considering seeing you dressed in my shirt gets me worked up in all sorts of ways.”

Perplexed, I glance down at my torso to see that I am, indeed, clad in the button-down Peeta had been wearing last night for the dinner we’d been forced through with all of our potential sponsors. It had been as hellish as I’d expected.

I smile back up at him. “Whoops. I didn’t even know that I was wearing it.”

He shakes his head at me. “Then I guess this is only fair.”

From his sitting position on the bed, he ducks his torso to the floor and picks up something before throwing it over his head.

I realize a moment later that it’s my blouse from last night. And I can’t help it. I crack up. Full-on, six-pack-making, belly laughs. I can’t remember the last time I’d found something so truly funny.

Peeta gives an exaggerated pout. “Not quite the same effect, huh?”

I double over, practically wheezing, before straightening up and wiping the tears that had gathered at the corners of my eyes-- an entirely different sort from the kind that had been threatening to spill just minutes ago.

“No, it’s super sexy,” I finally answer, little hiccups still bubbling up occasionally.

He just looks _so_ ridiculous, with the silky green material stretched to its max over the broad expanse of his shoulders, and the sleeves, which had been a perfect length on me, barely reaching past his elbows.

Hatching an idea, I throw on some underwear and his slacks from last night. “Put on some pants,” I say. “We’re going to fuck with Effie.”

He smiles devilishly at me before pulling a pair from his drawers-- there’s no way he’d even hope to fit into the tight leggings I’d been sporting at the dinner-- and throwing them onto his legs.

“Be cool,” I whisper to him as the door to my compartment slides open.

“Good morning,” Effie sing-songs before we walk into the dining room. “It’s about time--”

Her words end in an abrupt screech as she takes us in, her false lashes flickering everywhere as her eyes try to comprehend the situation before her.

I think even the Avoxes’ jaws have dropped to the floor.

“I-- Well, I _never!_ ” Effie shrieks. Her shrill voice rings out in the silent room. “This is _highly_ unprofessional, not to mention completely _childish_.”

“Good morning to you, too, Effie,” I chirp happily, then sit down to eat and motion for Peeta to do the same. I roll up the long sleeves of Peeta’s shirt before digging in.

Over at the end of the table, Effie stands uncomprehendingly, her mouth opening and closing ridiculously before she gives up with an exasperated huff and tucks one of her wig’s stray hairs back into place.

But I can see Haymitch’s undeniable smile behind his crystal glass. I hide one of my own behind a piece of toast and bite into it.


	23. Day 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

_**“Imagine person A walking out of the bathroom after a shower, half-naked and wreathed in steam, and B immediately dropping whatever they were holding. Bonus if it’s an animal which gives them the stink eye before slinking away.”** _

My hand shakes as I reach out to knock on Katniss’s door. It’s directly across the path from mine in Victor’s Village, and I barely remember gathering the courage to open my door, never mind coming all the way over to her house. All I know is that I was in so much pain last night, so much pain as I lay awake listening to her screaming and sobbing across the way and  _there was nothing I could do about it_  and suddenly I was in a nightmare of my own.  _No, not a nightmare,_  I tell myself.  _An episode_. So, here I am. Trying not to remember how excruciating her nightmares had sounded. Tugging on a sleeve to hide the raw, scratched skin I’d given myself in the midst of the hellish haze. Doing my best to quell the trembling in my limbs from the possible rejection to come.

The squeak of the door’s hinges is loud, so  _loud_ , and I cringe. Then I realize she’s actually answered the door. And a small smile crawls onto my face.

She just looks so  _tired_ , with her disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, and heavy, purple under-eye bruises. I want to take her into my arms, kiss her until she’s whole again ( _I want to rip out her throat_ – no, I don’t, I  _won’t_ ). But I keep still. She’s small, fragile, a frightened animal. I need to hold back.

“Peeta?” she croaks; that strong, heavenly voice I’d known for years is so broken, so delicate I can hardly trace it back to Katniss.

“Hi,” I breathe.

“What…” She’s confused, I can tell. I don’t blame her; we’ve hardly looked at each other, let alone spoken, in the weeks and months after the end of the war.

“I– Your nightmares. They sounded bad last night.” I wince at myself. I came to get her to talk to me again. How is this helping?

“Uh, yeah. They were.” She coughs a little.

When did we get so awkward around one another?

Katniss makes no move to open the door. That isn’t helping me any.

“I, uh… I made cheese buns,” I blurt, holding up the stained paper bag in my fist.

She pauses a beat. Considers me. Then she lets a small smile– god, a  _beautiful_ smile– quickly cross her face.

And opens the door to me.

**X-X-X-X**

Two weeks later, she lets me into her bed.

I’ve been over almost every day now, spending hours at a time at her kitchen table, on her couch, on the floor in front of the television, just talking to her. We slip back into our old selves– making simple, easy conversation. Nothing more.

I haven’t enjoyed myself quite this much since… well, I’m not sure when. There’s no cameras to capture our every word, our every action, no pressure to act in any way other than the natural one. And eventually, Katniss begins to lower her defenses, to open up. And, I think, to trust me.

Once, I even get her to laugh.

“You can… Um, you can stay here. Tonight. If you want,” she says now, gesturing to her bed.

My heart jumps. I fight a smile.

“Will you allow it?”

“Always,” she replies, and smiles softly, telling me, “Real” when I ask her about the memory.

**X-X-X-X**

“Peeta?” Katniss calls from the shower.

“Hmm?” I reply absently, stroking Buttercup’s fur. He and Katniss get along better than they used to, but they’re both still indifferent to one another. The cat seemed to take a liking to me, however– much to Katniss’s extreme dismay– and now constantly searches from me the attention he never receives from Katniss.

“Would you grab me a towel and put it in here, please?”

“Sure,” I reply, grabbing a towel from the linen closet– I’d helped Katniss organize months earlier– and placing it on the toilet lid beside the shower.

She gives me her thanks and I tell her it’s nothing, no problem at all. I’d do anything for her (I don’t tell her this last part, of course. It would only serve to freak her out.). Then I brush my teeth using the toothbrush I’ve kept here at Katniss’s house for the past several months. I rarely return to my house anymore.

Picking up Buttercup from where he’s taken my spot on the bed, I arrange the pillow-blanket setup that serves as his bed. I’m about to lay the grumbling cat down when my breath catches in my throat.

A cloud of steam follows Katniss out of the bathroom when she opens the door, humming a nameless tune in her beautiful, honeyed voice.

Wrapped in only a towel.

I curse slightly and look down as Buttercup hisses at me, settling himself in his makeshift bed. I’ve dropped him, I guess. I can hardly tell; my mind is a haze of shower steam and Katniss’s long, dark, wet hair and smooth voice and the _very thin_  layer of material that separates her naked body from my hungry (and, forgive me, still teenaged) eyes.

Katniss sees me staring, dumbfounded. She stops singing and my heart sinks an inch. “What?” she questions– self-consciously, I can tell– and crosses her arms over her chest.

I gulp and give a weak smile before tearing my eyes away from the sight. “Nothing.”

“ _What?_ ” she asks again, now at the point of whining. “Peeta, what is it? You’re acting weird.”

“Nothing!” I insist, though I can tell she’s not buying it. “I’m… going to go grab some fresh pajamas from my house.”

“Wha-” she begins, but I’m out the door before she can finish.

I practically sprint home to  _relieve some tension._

She’s sitting up in bed when I return, now properly dressed and reading a book. She smiles up at me when I greet her, but thankfully doesn’t question me further about my behavior.

Later, in the dark, tucked into each other, I release a sigh into her thick, shampoo-scented hair.

“Katniss,” I say to her softly, and she just hums in response, teetering on the verge of sleep. I feel a rush of pride that she can sleep when I’m around. “The reason I acted so weird earlier… You looked really beautiful. When you came out of the shower. That’s all.”

She covers her face with her hands, but she’s smiling. “I hate you.”

“I know,” I reply jokingly. “But I’ve accepted that. And I’m okay with it.”

She kisses me then, for the first time since the sewers of the Capitol, the smile still playing on her perfect lips.


	24. Day 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine your OTP as teachers at the same school who are always flirting and have their students shipping them without realizing it.”_ **

The door to my classroom opens with a creak and I inwardly roll my eyes at the interruption.

Then I see Peeta rapping his knuckles against the open door and I smile, probably a little too cheekily.

“Sorry. Can I come in?” he asks with a dazzling smile. I can practically feel the eyes of every female in the room shift to him.

“Door’s already open, so I suppose,” I toss back playfully. “You know, knocking after you’ve already entered kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves me off. “But I like to pretend I’m a gentleman.”

My mind reels with all of the ways he could show me he  _isn’t_ a perfect gentleman. I do not voice any of these, obviously.

“Mind if I borrow an Expo marker?” he asks, interrupting my terribly dirty thoughts. “Mine keep disappearing.”

“Certainly, Mr. Mellark,” I reply, loving the way his name rolls off my tongue.

I  _swear_ I see his eyes darken before he thanks me with another smile and closes the door with a soft click.

**X-X-X-X**

Our lunch times align the next day, thank the heavens, and he brings his sandwich into my room and stands by the desk I’ve cleared for the two of us.

“So,” he says, plopping down into the seat I’ve pulled over for him.

“So…?” I reply.

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a conversation going.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”

He laughs and flicks a piece of lettuce from his sandwich at me. I pinch it off from where it lands on my arm and drop it into the waste bin beside me.

“It seemed like you had a pretty interesting lesson going on today when I dropped in,” he says finally around a mouthful of his sandwich, when the silence has just reached the point of becoming unbearable.

I shrug. “I guess. I mean, as interesting as AP biology can get.”

“Hey, it seems like everyone is pretty invested whenever I walk in,” he replies.

“You mean  _every_ day?” I tease, and he smiles. “Thanks. They’re high schoolers, obviously, and I just do my best to even get them to listen to me drone on.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job.”

“Thanks.”

I stab at a half of a tomato in my salad with my cafeteria-issued plastic fork. Clear my throat. Wait for Peeta to strike up another conversation. He’s better with words– that’s why he’s an Honors English teacher, I suppose.

He doesn’t, so I make my best attempt.

“You lose a lot of Expo markers, huh?” I jab. Then wince at myself.

This is getting me nowhere.

To my extreme relief, he just laughs. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” Scratches the back of  his neck. Coughs… nervously?

“Well, I really should get going,” Peeta states suddenly, standing and brushing off his hands. “You know, lesson plans and stuff.”

He hasn’t even finished half of his sandwich yet.

“Peeta,” I say to him, my brow furrowed, “I’m sorry if I insulted you, or if I scared you off some–”

“Katniss, it’s fine,” he interrupts. “Really, you’re fine.”

He smiles weakly at me before wrapping up the remnants of his lunch and slipping out the door.

**X-X-X-X**

Johanna Mason, one of my best and most brilliant students but also a major fucking pain in my ass, raises her hand one day after Peeta’s just left the room and I’m still smiling towards the door.

I sigh. “Johanna?”

She drops her hand at cocks her head. “Are you going to tap that?”

My breath catches in my throat and for a solid moment I’m terrified I’ll choke to death on my saliva. The students around the room snicker at Johanna’s question and my reaction.

“ _Excuse_ me?” I finally manage.

“I  _said_ , ‘Are you going to tap that?’ Because you seem really into him. Besides, if you don’t, I totally will.”

“Ms. Mason, I really don’t think that’s  _appropriate_ –”

“I’m just telling you, none of us would think any less of you if you  _did_ tap that. In fact, we’d encourage it. We all totally ship you guys together.”

I give her a look. Pretend I totally know what  _ship_ means.

“As I was  _saying_ , the food chain is organized in a very specific way.”

**X-X-X-X**

“Do you know what  _shipping_ is?” I go ahead and ask that day. After our first disastrous lunch, we’d managed to work the rest out with few awkward moments. We’re in his room today.

Peeta swallows. “Um, no. I’ve never heard of it. Why?”

Even though I have no idea of its definition, I have a feeling that the word Johanna used has an embarrassing meaning. So I take a moment to decide whether or not to continue.

“Johanna– one of my AP students, sorry– told me today that people  _ship_ us. I’m old and I have no idea what teen slang is anymore. Well, not that I ever did, even when I was a teen myself.”

Peeta snorts. “Right. Because twenty-eight is old.” He wipes his hands on the napkin in his lap and stands from his seat. “No, I’ve never heard of it. Luckily, though, I  _do_ have an old friend called  _Urban Dictionary_.” He walks over to the computer at his desk.

I furrow my brow at him. “What’s that?”

As he leans down to type into his computer I definitely do  _not_ look at his ass. “It’s this website where you can look up slang. You know, for the  _elderly_ , like us.”

I shake my head and wait for him to finish looking up the phrase. When he laughs out loud I look up from where I’d been examining my uneven fingernails.

“‘ _Ship_ ,’” Peeta reads aloud. “‘ _To endorse a romantic relationship_.’”

My face begins to flame immediately after he finishes reading the words, and I do my best to cool my scorching cheeks.  _It’s a silly, juvenile thing, Katniss. Not real. Stop freaking out…_

Peeta turns to me, still laughing a bit. “Do you ship us, Katniss?” he jokes.

I cover my reddened face with my hands. “Dear Lord,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m  _not_ worrying about it,” I lie straight to his face. “It’s  _stupid_.”

His smile falls, just slightly, and I bite my lip hard to keep from taking back my comment. But he recovers quickly, closing out of the  _Urban Dictionary_  tab and moving on to a new topic. By the end of lunch, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’d imagined that forlorn expression. That any interest I might have thought he had in me was all faux, made up by my over-dramatic mind.

But then, after I’ve said my goodbyes and am walking out the door, I just barely spot it.

 

A brand-new, unopened box of Expo markers, waiting to be used by him.  

 


	25. Day 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably ending the drabble challenge here :((  
> Find me on Tumblr at everlark-af.

**_“Imagine person A of your OTP coming home from the gym all sweaty. Person B sees this and gets instantly turned on.”_ **

“Peeta?” I call into the apartment and shut the door behind me.

No reply. He must be out, so I take my time unbagging the groceries and organizing them into the cabinet.

Peeta never told me he was going out. After I’m finished with the groceries, I unlock my phone and open Snapchat.

 _Where are you?_  I type over the selfie of me pouting exaggeratedly. Then I toss my phone on the pillow beside me and switch on the TV.

A few minutes later, my phone pings with a Snapchat from Peeta. I swipe my finger across the screen and open the app. A picture of Peeta’s feet– in motion and blurry on the treadmill– pops up with the caption,  _At the gym. Be home soon._

I don’t bother replying but smile at the fire emoji next to his name with the number  _147_. A one-hundred-and-forty-seven-day hot streak? Pretty impressive.

I absently snap my best friend Johanna back before closing the app and shutting off my phone. Then, reluctantly, I pull out my notes and plan tomorrow’s lesson for my kindergarten class. We’ve just started to work on compound words. I would never have guessed how difficult it would be to run a group of five- and six-year-olds. Keeping them interested and attentive is one of the most challenging parts of my job.

I’ve just started to make a list of compound words to review when the door to our apartment creaks open and a familiar, melodic voice calls my name. I smile and continue scribbling.

“Hey.” I draw the word out like a song.

“God, I love your voice,” Peeta says, and I grin down at my paper.

I hold my index finger in the air, signaling to him  _‘one minute’_ , then jot down the last of my list and lift my head to smile at him.

My heart leaps practically into my throat. Peeta goes to the gym almost five times a week; how have I never seen him  _like this?_

He stands with his palms flat against the wall, leaning forward and stretching his calves and giving me a  _fantastic_ view of his ass. His workout shirt is tight and clinging to his body, with sweat stains sporadically dotting his lower back. One of his earbuds is plucked out and dangling loose by his side and there’s a single drop of sweat sliding down from his tousled curls, following a tendon in his neck into his shirt…

It’s overwhelming. I have to take in the whole image time and time again.

I jump a little when he pivots around, facing me and ducking his head to kiss me. I accept it but let a curtain of dark hair fall between us afterward. He’ll know exactly what I’m thinking if he sees my flushed cheeks.  _I’m just glad he can’t feel the heat pool in my core…_

He’s leaving the living room and heading into the bathroom when I shake myself back into reality.

“Peeta,” I call after him, and he hums in acknowledgement and turns around to face me.

I wind my arms around his strong, warm, slightly damp neck and gaze up into the crystal clear sky of his eyes.

I can’t look him in the eyes when I speak, though. “I know you just worked out and everything already, but would you maybe wanna…” I trail off, dragging my fingers along the hard lines of his chest.

My face burns in shame when I feel, more than see, him laugh, but a look into his darkened eyes tells me he definitely isn’t rejecting me.

“I would say ‘Just let me shower’, but I don’t think there’s any real point in that…”

I smile mischievously at him. “I’ll join you.”

He sucks in a breath and almost sprints to the bathroom.

 


End file.
